Training for Mt. Kilimanjaro

             The actual ascent to the peak begins on my first day of Cardiac Rehab. Note the Cardiac disclaimer because to say “I start Rehab on May 30” may give another impression altogether.
             Tuesday was my follow-up appointment with Dr. Garrett, the magic surgeon.

The nurses assured me that my mood-swings were “normal” and that all the little nuances of general discomfort, lack of stamina, shortness of breath upon exertion, and borderline insanity are perfectly normal at this juncture, considering the type surgery which was terrifically successful.
              Prior to the appointment, we had a soup and salad lunch with David at Olive Garden. I love that he is allowing his hair to grow out. In the sun it will have those incredible blond highlights that I have to pay for.
            After Dr Garrett released me to the cardiologist in Jonesboro, we went out to Renee’s new house in Arlington where the men in the family floored a portion of their attic.  Aubrey was in fine form and we girls played and talked while the men worked. A portion of their electricity was knocked out by the storms and torrential rain that came through Memphis.  By 7PM, we headed for home.  I wanted nothing but some food (even a McD’s fish sandwich) and my bed. I’d been up all day doing something even if it was walking and breathing and talking, with no nap.
              Today, I drove to the Post Office and the grocery store. At the PO, the postmaster and I visited a few minutes. It was great to get out and nice to drive, but by the time I got home, I took to the chair, feet up.  Weight-lifting (gallon of milk and rainbow sherbet) and endurance training (pushing grocery cart up and down 5 or 6 aisles) will wear a girl out.  I went to the store primarily for strawberries, which I bought, washed, capped, and prepared for dessert for tonight. Even my fingers are tired.

                Mt. Kilimanjaro looms large, but I think the daily training will speed my recovery time.

Pet Rock, Almond Croissant, and a Barbie Car

             Drugs – nothing like having them when needed, but as dear friends know, “I don’t do well with drugs.”  The standard is that I’m either sick as a dog, dead-to-the-world asleep, or the entertainment and floor-show- just short of table dancing.  So, when I say that I went a whole day with no pain killer drugs, that’s a great thing. I do take one at night when I can do little damage and sleep like a “pet rock.”
           Having the new tile shower has been marvelous, though it is still quite the accomplishment to prepare for bed.  2 sets of towels, preparation before and concluding ceremonies before bed, as regards the various vampire bites and other surgical incisions.  In addition to the “fine lines and wrinkles” I combat morning and night, there is proper procedure for minimizing scars.  I’m sure there’s a cream (or app) for that, when I get the go-ahead signal.
          There is a “husband’s waiting room” over at Lowe’s in Paragould, for use while wives get beautified down the street.  Ha.  Marvin drove me for my hair trim and then did his errands at Lowe’s.  When we got home, a couple of friends came by.  Visitors!  Yipee! Both bearing goodies – loaded chicken noodle soup and an almond cream cheese coffee cake that should be outlawed for maxing the “deliciousness scale.” The coffee cake reminds me of the Almond Croissants at LaBaguette.
              Things around here are looking up. We are going to WalMart this afternoon for groceries.  I told Marvin I could drive one of the motorized handicapped carts.  No-way, he said.  You’re too young and cute for that.  We’ll see if they have a Barbie Car for you!  HAHA.
                My check-up is Tuesday, May 21 with Dr. Garrett! I'm to be released to the cardiologist in Jonesboro for follow-up and cardiac rehab. I'm looking forward to that, as long as the therapists are not related to Nurse Ratchet.
              We (the "royal we") are making plans for cleaning out and possibly expanding the fish pond, upgrading and repairing the deck, and opening the pool.  God is so very good!

The Heart: It's All or Nothing

Thomas joked, “Do you even remember me being there?”
“Of course, I do. You and Lois were there.  I just don’t remember the “hurt all over” part.
"I told you it would be like this."
“It’s true, though. It’s a beat-up feeling, and I try to keep pain meds to 1 AM and 1PM, to ease the all-shook-up feeling and the generally uncomfortable status.”
                       Today, I walked ¾ around the house and took photos of beautiful iris.  After a bit of a respite on the front porch, I walked on to the post office.  Ha!  Not really – the Mail Box.  From there I retrieved several pretty cards wishing me a speedy recovery.

                           Heart surgery has become rather common-place, it seems, except when you’re the one having it.  The roller-coaster of emotions is probably due to all the manipulations and the trauma the heart goes through. I am so grateful to have had such a marvelous surgeon, able to fix me and set me on the path to years of excellent health. This miracle-man surgeon had never seen a myxoma this large, but he and his team removed it and fixed me right up. 

    A Myxoma in and of itself is rare, but sometimes babies present these tumors which are snipped away while baby is still in the womb.

  For an older person, the rush to surgery is because these large things flip and flop within the heart and can get positioned in such a way as to cut off heart function and air and can cause sudden death. Large ones have been there quite a while, having grown for many years and they can have pieces break off and fly to the brain, the eyes, and other places, causing a stroke.
      From cases I have read, like mine, the myxoma did not produce a great number of symptoms prior to the Big Event. Most patients were in good shape, having no blockages, and not being in poor health at all.  Most diagnoses it seems are surprises and the symptoms recognized as mild until they are extreme, and attributable to other causes, and thus left alone.
 The heart is fickle and desires your constant and close attention.  It is the "all or nothing" muscle.

Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day - even in Australia

Just take the Pain Meds, Darn it, Jane. 
                  Friends know I don’t do well on meds, but have you seen me without them when I need them. That’s worse. While I rarely go “halfsies” on a dessert, I’d best go that portion on meds.  “Loopy” and “Entertaining” would be two descriptors for the result of a regular dose.

                      A charter member of the Wimp and Proud of It club, I’ve been caught in a quandary.  Doing more…but not pushing.  Fine line.  Step over it and you’ll pay, especially if you are trying to forego pain meds.
                        Not a sharp or stabbing pain, but a general discomfort, is the pain level I’d describe: bruised and banged up feeling, not around incisions.  Stitches itch and pull.  I’ve been doing my breathing treatments and have good capacity, but my ribs area is really sore, especially on the right. In fact, imagine being run over by a garbage truck.
                       Called the doc last night and he said it sounded pretty typical. That made me whine. 2-3 months of aggravating pain and general discomfort, all the while trying to get some fresh air and walk a bit. Jane, put on your big girl panties and Snap Out of It.
                      I’ll see Dr. Garrett in 2 weeks.  He has me on BP meds to keep those numbers low while the healing takes place.  Low BP makes one sluggish.  Pain meds complicate potty routines, so that’s another “sluggish” function.  While my psyche is designed to be pampered, there is a real desire to help, which gets me into trouble. I’m exhausted from carrying a “load” of lingerie to the bedroom.
                     

    Many acquaintances are survivors of open heart surgery and they are walking around having great lives.  I intend to do the same. And, as posted lately, I have only this surgery to contend with, and Hallelujah, I know I will come out on top!

Your Body's "Silent Scream"

Rather than use Lemon Pie to give details of the ordeal of the past 2 weeks, I will share a few immediate insights:
1.       God is always in control and will show a straight path for you to follow. Never doubt that for a moment.
2.       Stay in good physical shape, no matter what.  Then, when your body is in “silent scream” mode, you won’t think, “Hey, I’m just out of shape.”
3.      Don’t ignore your body’s love-language. Ignored symptoms from “super-woman:” 1.  Lung capacity. I’ve always been an excellent swimmer, but last summer I had no ability to swim the length of the pool. Never gained it. 2. Shortness of breath on a 1 mile puppy-walk, previously an easy spin.  Picture an Olympic athlete at the end of a marathon race with hands above head, willing air into exhausted lungs.  This should not happen at 1 mile, doggie-walking pace. 3.  Swollen ankles.  Never graced with slender ankles, I believed fat ankles had been inherited.  Nope.  Should not indent when pressed with fingertips.
4.      Oncology specialists focus exclusively on their specialty areas, and glad I am of it. They should not be held accountable for swollen ankles. Our healthy eating campaign and walking routine of the previous year gave me great results. Echocardiograms are the Beast and if you’ve never had one, consider asking your doc about it, especially with family history. Get a good Internal Medicine doctor in addition to any specialist.  We were on the list for consultation, but had not had too much response. This delay – was that God, also?  I think so, as in all things. 
5.      If you’ve never been a “hypochondriac” you won’t suddenly be one by going to the doctor. Know how to say, “This is important,” with emphasis and make that appointment.  Then, keep it.  You are important.

“It will come to you, this love of the land. There's no gettin' away from it.”

            Where I live currently is NE Arkansas Delta farm country, home of cotton, corn, and soybeans. I watch as farmers agonize over the weather, whether it rains or doesn’t.  I listen to discussions of costs, prices, and water tables. Those enormous John Deere tractors and other devises roam the fields like prehistoric monsters. I’ve seen the pictures of St. Francis River swamp land that was bought and drained to provide excellent farm land in Clay County. Young men continue to enter family farm enterprises, beginning with the 40 acres, less the mule.
              Pine trees populate south Arkansas, my growing-up home land, and threaten to overtake the landscape, covering small towns that are now practically abandoned. With their prickly green needles and healthy cones contributing mustard-yellow pollen to decorate driveways, roof tops, and cars, these pine are those that shelter the city of Camden. They drop needles, provide mulch to protect the city’s azalea plants and enable recess architects to design multi-room houses. In south Arkansas, I watched my father tend to timber business in cultivating a pine-tree farm on 640 acres. I heard plans and dreams and watched as they dissolved in economically troubled family dynamics.  The timber business is lucrative, but slow. A windfall profit seemed preferable.
                 Camden also enjoyed the benefits of the Oil Boom in south Arkansas.  Several prominent businessmen opened wildcat wells in Smackover (Union County), and the resulting inflow of money into all of south Arkansas fueled a major swell in the economy. Our family had informational ties to some wildcatters and bought mineral rights to various small properties as the wildcat wells were drilled. All you needed was one well to come in.
                The family timberlands were sold, but we retain oil (mineral) rights for a number of land holdings in south Ouachita County and north Union County.   While the sale of Auntie’s Place (timberlands) in Union County devastated my father, it pained us most to see this land go into the hands of a conglomerate timber company.  Daddy had wanted to leave something of lasting value, land, a pine tree farm, to his family, and my brother had planned to manage the operation someday.  Land is the only thing that lasts, according to Gerald O’Hara and Goss Dansby.
               Interest in Arkansas oil has renewed. The drilling experts are offering oil leases in Union County, part of Auntie’s Place, part of the Smackover Brown-Dense, Shale.  Oil leases, however, are not the same as Land, Katie Scarlett.  We are not the surface owners, so these mineral rights and monthly/quarterly interest checks can be here today and gone tomorrow, if the owner does not keep up with the taxes.  We encountered Jonas Wilkerson roaming around south Arkansas, buying up pieces of Tara for unpaid taxes.
                  This oil baroness business is nothing to be sneezed at.  It does not pay worth a flip, but it’s all we have left of the family land, and Land is the only thing that lasts. ~
            You might enjoy the companion piece, posted on More Than A Bracelet.

Thread...Connections...Threads

             I use so many straight pins when I sew, pricking my fingers is inevitable.  Sleeping Beauty fell into a swoon when she pricked her finger…I just create new combinations of compound-curse words.
             During this particular creative period, sewing has taken a meaning far deeper than binding up wounds, more than creating something with fabric and thread.  Without a séance, without a Ouija Board or a Palm Reader, I have communicated with Mother. I have connected with thread, as in Woolco thread, Howard’s thread, and, of course, WalMart thread. 
             I open the tin in which are stacked and snuggled various vintage spools with thread in a kaleidoscope of colors. I’ve raided 3 sewing boxes for thread, notions, and ribbon.  A collection of trim, buttons, pins, and lace nestle in the top drawer of the chest in my guest room, Pam’s room, sewing room. Recently when I have needed a particular color thread, such as emerald green, lavender, lemon yellow, or magenta, it has been waiting for me.  I reach into the tin, the box, the drawer, and “voila’!” – as if by magic –exactly what I need is there.
                 Today, while holding a spool of never-before-used lemon yellow thread that Mother bought from Howard’s for 15 cents, I remembered when she laughed out a “hallelujah!” as I said, “I think I’d like a sewing machine for Christmas!” It was as if I had finally allowed her creative genes to take hold and she was there to see it happen.
                  My booth: Party Hostess, Tailgating Event, Grilling Guru Aprons; Garden Aprons, Couples Aprons….there are about 30 designs, each is one-of-a-kind.  My “business” will be called “Voila’!”- As If By Magic!